“Don’t let Captain Izack hear you. But yes, most are on the border. It’s the business of knights to be in battle, and we’re fortunate to have as many as we do. Too many follow Ebigail out of habit. I hate to say it, but my fellow northwealders lack your people’s fire. They’re too easily led.”

“Be glad they’ve not had to learn defiance,” Josiri replied. “It’s a hard lesson.”

“And one that must be taught today. Revolution is like glass. For a time it is malleable from the fire of its birth, but once it cools? Then, only destruction will serve.” Viktor’s gaze slackened as he stared not at what lay around him, but a future only he beheld. “I’d spare everyone that.”

Josiri cast his mind back to the plaza filled with soldiers and a cheering crowd. “Didn’t you say we were outnumbered?”

“I implied it. But there’s little choice. Ebigail has woven lies to protect herself. If we pluck her from that web, perhaps events will return to their proper course. If we offer defiance, others will break from her side.”

“And if they don’t?”

Viktor shrugged.

“That’s what I thought,” said Josiri wearily. “What about the vranakin?”

“The Crowmarket has no taste for defeat. If we prove Ebigail vulnerable, they’ll abandon her.”

“That’s a leap.”

“Nothing else will serve. If we do not come for her, she’ll surely come for us.”

Josiri glanced about the courtyard. The chapterhouse was a sturdy enough fortress, its thick walls a throwback to more fractious times. But it wouldn’t hold long against kraikons. “You’re still the Council’s champion. Surely you can rally support out in the shires?”

“Ebigail’s had a busy morning. If Izack’s to be believed, there are ‘traitors’ enough gathered at the Hayadra Grove to keep the gallows swinging until dawn – members of Malachi’s extended family among them.” Viktor shrugged. “And Rosa? Rosa is my friend. For her alone, I’d take this chance. But you? You may go wherever you wish. Home, if that’s what calls you. I’ll think nothing less of you. This isn’t your fight. I wish it weren’t mine.”

The words were different to those Malachi had used that morning, but the sense was the same.

“People keep telling me that,” Josiri replied. “But I don’t think I can.”

Viktor clapped him on the shoulder. A grin broke like sunlight from behind storm clouds. “Then let’s be about our business.”

Viktor watched Josiri cross the courtyard to the brutish blockhouse of the Essamere armoury. At last, there was true accord between them, but the price . . . Why did fate hate him so?

“Uncle Viktor?”

He forced a smile. “Sidara. Aren’t you supposed to be with your parents?”

“They’re arguing again. I doubt they’ve even noticed I’m gone.”

“What are they arguing about?”